


Pardon The Way That I Stare

by yormgen



Series: Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crushes, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, akira is morganas favorite, confidant spoilers for makoto, futaba is only cock-blocking herself, light spoilers through the fifth palace, obligatory everyone loves akira fic, pining support group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yormgen/pseuds/yormgen
Summary: It’s a dark, hastily taken selfie. Yusuke’s hardly in the shot, Akira has his head nestled against Yusuke’s shoulder, glasses askew. His eyes are closed, ridiculously long eyelashes spilling over his cheeks, lips parted slightly, looking so fucking peaceful and angelic that Ann has to look away for a moment. Then, Ann presses her finger on the photo to save it and makes it Ryuji’s lock-screen photo.





	Pardon The Way That I Stare

**Author's Note:**

> [There's nothing else to compare, the sight of you leaves me weak.](https://youtu.be/fgj7UUGSFsM)

There is something about being near Akira.

 

Something lovely about the way he moves, always carrying the smell of coffee on him, how he quietly tucks himself into a space, humble and making himself small and out of the way, as if he isn’t the most important person in the room, as if he doesn’t demand attention just by being. It’s therapeutic watching him tug the loose curls spilling around his face, or watching him twirl pencils around his skilled fingers with a grace that shouldn’t suit anxious habits.

 

He isn’t the way he is on purpose, most likely. A product of adaptation and pressure, like a diamond forced from coal. If he’s aware of how hypnotic he is, he doesn’t seem interested in bragging, which is another quietly lovely thing about him.

 

They all discuss it with each other, often; to cope with the sensations of knowing Akira by one’s self would surely be too overwhelming to process and withhold. Learning that the experience was a shared one across the entire group was surprisingly grounding, where they may have expected it to be a point of contention. But then again, their group is formed and held together by solidarity through a common struggle.

 

 

Ann’s pretty sure she founded the support group at the diner, back in May, watching Ryuji have his big bisexual awakening over how Akira had looked right out of the gym shower. Ryuji wasn’t particularly intolerant, but he was still a meathead when it counted, working himself into a panic over finding a guy hot. Ann would have laughed at him if he hadn’t been the one to listen to her when she’d first panicked over her big gay crush on Shiho back in middle school.

 

“Listen,” Ann had started, keeping her voice gentle, “there’s nothing wrong with knowing a drop-dead gorgeous guy when you see one.”

 

Ryuji fixed her with a tormented glare, letting her know she wasn’t helping.

 

Ann reached over the booth and gripped his arm. “I’m not making fun of you! I’m just saying that I get it, and it’s not as big a deal as you think it is!” She winced, reconsidering. “I mean, it is a big deal, realizing stuff like that. But it’s not a bad thing! You probably couldn’t pick a better guy.”

 

“I know!” Ryuji had groaned, miserable. “He’s so fuckin’ _nice_! I could probably _tell_ him and he’d just smile at me, all patient and _uuuugh_ …”

 

Ann squeezed his arm again. “You’re telling me. I didn’t even know I could crush on boys at this point, he’s something else.”

 

Ryuji’s eyes had met hers in an instant, the first time he’d made eye contact with her since the conversation started. “Wait, you’re into Akira? Since when do you like dudes?”

 

“I just said—”

 

Ryuji’s head had hit the table, cutting her off. “… When was it for you?”

 

Ann thought about it. She considered that it might have been the day Akira had talked her through her breakdown over Kamoshida in the Shibuya Station underpass, but she’d hit almost every emotional high possible during that conversation with him. Not a clear indicator.

 

“A while back,” she’d decided, “when he let me bounce stories about Shiho off him for like, hours. He bought me crepes to sneak inside the hospital for her and walked me there, just stayed near me because I needed it. Shiho made fun of me for blushing the whole time I was with her.”

 

“Good,” Ryuji had huffed, but he was looking at her with a soft expression. “I’m glad someone was there to make fun of you, too.”

 

“I wasn’t making fun of you!”

 

 

Now, months later, Ann still watches Ryuji bury his face into his arms across the same diner booth, certain that his groaning is more theatrical then genuine distress. She takes the phone from his hand and checks the chat log.

 

 **Yusuke Kitagawa:** He accompanied me to the planetarium today,

**Yusuke Kitagawa:** but he fell asleep on my shoulder during the showing. I might die.

_Yusuke Kitagawa sent an image_

It’s a dark, hastily taken selfie. Yusuke’s hardly in the shot, Akira has his head nestled against Yusuke’s shoulder, glasses askew. His eyes are closed, ridiculously long eyelashes spilling over his cheeks, lips parted slightly, looking so fucking peaceful and angelic that Ann has to look away for a moment. Then, Ann presses her finger on the photo to save it and makes it Ryuji’s lock-screen photo.

 

 

 

Makoto, not having any intention of trivializing the others’ plight, is incredibly convinced that she has the worst time of it. Akira has been helping her watch over Eiko since June, so generous and reliable, still pretending to be her boyfriend even after whispers of their ‘relations’ started circulating Shujin. Makoto can’t find it in herself to feel self-conscious about the rumors; she’s a third year with little to lose by way of reputation for how little time she has left as a high school student. The worst she gets is the thinly veiled intervention by the other student council members, concerned for her safety and judgement. Akira’s record notwithstanding, she refuses to see any issues with her judgement.

 

He plays the part diligently, convincingly, for her sake. He holds her hand in Shinjuku while she interrogates talent scouts. He makes a show out of sliding into the council room after her while in Eiko’s eye shot, smiling conspiratorially, giving Makoto the leeway to sound knowledgeable about passionate romance when she pleads with Eiko later. He lets her take sweetly staged selfies with him at Leblanc, even when he’s on the clock, so she can continue to dissuade Tsukasa’s advances. She keeps the photos on her phone.

 

Fake dating Akira, Makoto decides, is the cruelest thing she’s ever done to herself. She drives her fist into a wall the afternoon after he jokes with her about double weddings. She thinks about the afternoon at Crossroads, where she all but propositions him into making an honest woman of her, and oh, he had blushed so pretty, telling her he hoped she found someone soon. She almost forgives him for being so dense, but she doesn’t forgive Futaba at all for laughing at her when she griped about it.

 

 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Futaba reasons with them in the attic, Akira downstairs making coffee for the small group congregated in his room. “He’s not gonna realize it until one of you say it directly.”

 

Yusuke scoffs. “Akira is incredibly perceptive, and none of us are particularly gifted in subtlety.”

 

“I’ll attest to that,” Morgana quips from beside Futaba, earning him a nice head scratch.

 

“Besides,” Yusuke ignores, “he has enough to handle, without worrying about how to placate the feelings of all of his friends more than he already does.”

 

Futaba makes a face. “Speak for yourself. I’m like his little sister.”

 

Makoto looks at her, unimpressed. “Are you saying you aren’t even a little interested in him, Futaba?”

 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He lets me hold his arm when we go out so I feel safe, and he’s like, stupid cute,” Futaba says easily. “Doesn’t change that he probably still thinks of me like a little sister. _I’m_ not gonna be the one to make that weird.”

 

Morgana gently licks his paw, sympathizing.

 

 

 

Morgana only lives with Haru for around three nights and spends an impressive amount of that time talking about Akira, which charms Haru. Morgana talks about Akira’s coffee, and his part time jobs, and how he’d never told Morgana that he was useless. She’s certain she’s only see him in passing at Shujin, heard his name a few times, but listening to Morgana lament about the weekly sushi Akira would buy him makes her feel as though she already knows Akira well.

 

When she meets him again in the gardens, Haru thinks she can understand how Morgana could stay so fond of this boy through their debacle. Akira is unfailingly polite, and gives her such a sincere smile when he offers to help her unload bags of mulch, even though they both know they can’t ignore the tension building behind the masks much longer.

 

Before Makoto guides him away to reconvene with the other thieves about their impasse, Akira asks her quietly, “Morgana is safe, right? He’s staying with you?”

 

“Yes,” she answers before she can think much of it. “Mona-chan is safe with me.”

 

Akira exhales slowly and gives her another small smile. He looks sad and tired. “Alright… Thank you,” he says, and turns away to join Makoto.

 

Haru isn’t terribly sure Morgana is best off at her house after all.

 

 

Still so new to all that comes with being a thief in the Metaverse, Haru watches Joker toss himself into the air with a ballet-trained grace, plant his heels into the shoulder of a shadow and tear its mask from its form, grinning like a beautiful demon while the monster bursts into tar under his hand.

“Oh,” she breathes quietly, feeling flushed, watching him fall back on the ground with the ease of a cat.

 

Haru feels Skull brush past her, moving to keep up with Joker’s form already moving ahead. “Yeah, I know,” he says, as if she had asked a question. “You’ll get used to it.”

 

 

 

Akira lies awake staring at the attic ceiling, Morgana tucked under his arm. “What should I do?” He shifts so he can pet Morgana’s back. “I love all of them, Morgana.”

 

Pointedly, Morgana ignores him.

**Author's Note:**

> this series isn't specifically chronological, but boy, are these kids super into each other
> 
> talk p5 to me here or on tumblr (@tolbyccia)


End file.
